The middle-aged man was momentarily taken aback by Odis's question, then smiled and said, "As long as you don't report it to the police, it's not illegal."
"...Fight one match, win 5 pounds, lose and still get 3 pounds. How about it? Doesn't that sound like easy money?"
Odis finally understood. It was actually underground boxing, or to put it more politely, no-rules fighting.
It did sound lucrative. Most of the middle class in Backlund earned a weekly wage between 3 and 8 pounds. In fact, anything over 6 pounds was considered relatively well-off.
But the injuries from a single match often took far longer than a week to heal...
At the same time, Odis was considering something else, 'I've been worrying about the lack of real combat opportunities. This underground fighting arena could be the perfect place to sharpen my skills in no-rules combat...'
Seeing Odis remain silent, the middle-aged man assumed he was dissatisfied with the pay, "How about 6 pounds if you win, 4 if you lose?"
He smiled, continuing, "That's the highest I can offer. You've never fought before, and I don't know your skill level."
Odis snapped out of his thoughts and asked, "If I win two matches in a row, how much can I earn in the second one?"
"You're quite confident, young man." The middle-aged man chuckled, "The second match pays 12 pounds! But let me warn you... the fighters here are no pushovers."
Odis ignored the warning and continued, "So if I win three in a row, the third match alone would pay 24 pounds?"
That meant three matches could net him a total of 48 pounds! That was extremely profitable!
He grinned, 'Why hadn't I thought of this money-making method before?'
The middle-aged man found Odis's smile increasingly unsettling...
He cleared his throat and said, "Actually, a three-win streak would earn you 50 pounds for the third match. But very few achieve that. Don't get ahead of yourself."
Odis seemed not to hear him, "That would bring the total to 74 pounds! Not bad at all."
"You…" The man sighed, "Fine, think whatever you want."
Odis declared, "I'll go with you. I want to fight."
He could hardly wait.
"Good."
The man put two fingers to his lips and whistled sharply. Soon, a small carriage pulled up.
Once inside, the man introduced himself as Gales, a manager at an underground fighting arena. His job was to scout for new talent at places like boxing clubs.
Odis nodded. In other words, fighters in this business had a high attrition rate...
The carriage traveled to south of the Bridge, stopping at a shabby bar tucked away in a narrow alley.
As Gales led Odis inside, a few patrons called out, "Gales, you brought another rookie?"
"This one's no rookie," Gales retorted sternly, "This gentleman is a seasoned member of the Backlund Fighting Club!"
The claim only drew laughter...
A red-nosed drinker jeered, "Last time, you hyped up that giant, and his nose got broken in under a minute!"
The room erupted in laughter.
Gales waved impatiently, "Gentlemen, place your bets!"
He guided Odis to the bar, where the bartender lifted a hinged panel and knocked on a back door.
The door opened from inside, revealing a descending staircase guarded by a bouncer.
"Good luck, rookie! Try to last a full minute!"
More raucous laughter followed as the door closed behind them.
On the stairs, Odis paused, "Can I place a bet?"
Gales blinked, then grinned, "Of course!"
Odis pulled out his wallet, "Let's see… I've got 66 pounds, 12 shillings, and 5 pence here. I'm betting it all on myself to win three straight."
Gales stared at the stack of cash and murmured, "You… you're quite well-off."
Odis frowned slightly, glancing at his attire, before asking, "Do I look poor?"
"Well, you don't dress like a gentleman... no tailcoat or formal wear, and you always take the public carriage, so…"
That was why Gales had approached him. Had he known the man could casually pull out over sixty pounds, he'd never have asked. Only someone with a death wish would join no-rules fights when they were already rich.
Odis sighed, "Formal clothes are uncomfortable."
"But gentlemen always dress that way." Gales pointed out.
Odis shrugged, "I never wanted to be some damn gentleman." He then changed the subject, handing the money to Gales, "Make sure I get the betting slip."
"Of course, of course." Gales pocketed the cash eagerly.
Business was business. He even decided to place a pound on Odis winning the first match. The odds would be high, and losing just one pound was no big deal.
The staircase led to a spacious underground area that was around two/three times larger than the bar above, with two other entrances. The only downside was the stale air...
At the center was a large wooden fighting ring. Its floor and railings were stained with long-dried blood.
The space also doubled as the bar's storage, stacked with barrels and two sturdy liquor racks.
The betting station was a battered desk manned by a burly yellow-toothed thug in his thirties, Simon, the arena's owner.
When Simon learned Odis had bet over sixty pounds on himself, he gave the lean young man a predatory grin, "You have guts."
Odis smiled back and turned to Gales, "Could you arrange dinner for me? Preferably something not too greasy."
After a glance at Simon for approval, Gales nodded, "Sure."
Simon smirked, then warned, "Better eat light. You'll regret it if you puke during the fight!"
His enforcers laughed openly.
"Thanks for the advice." Odis said nothing more, then he took a seat.
Minutes later, Gales brought his meal; pork with tender peas, a chunk of bread, and cheap tea.
The food was mediocre, but Odis wasn't picky. As he ate, he watched gamblers trickle in.
By 8 p.m., over two hundred spectators had gathered. The first match was about to begin...